


coming home

by taeyyoo



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Blood, Dong Si Cheng | WinWin-centric, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Injury, Inspired by Chronicles of Narnia, Slight mentions of robbery, slight mentions of bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25470235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taeyyoo/pseuds/taeyyoo
Summary: Weishen calls for its second prince to return, but Sicheng only covers his hands over his ears as his time begins again.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19





	coming home

**Author's Note:**

> Sicheng-centric story for the [NCT WayV Fleur Charity Zine](https://twitter.com/nctwayv_fleur) with a focus on the Protea flower!
> 
> _Protea - Courage, Diversity, Transformation_

Dong Sicheng, Second Prince of Weishen, Child of Spring, is a fighter.

He is willing to fight to protect his family, his friends, his home, no matter what it costs. When he was young, he fought silently to earn his position at the best dance academy in Beijing, fought to keep their family together when their parents separated, and fought to help Ten put food on the table. There is always a heavy cost to fighting, he thinks, but sometimes it’s worth it. He can endure it if it meant that Yukhei could live freely without fear.

But most of his fights are quiet and calm, nothing more than hard work and dedication and endurance. It gets tiring when the fight lasts so long and all he can do is watch as the people he loves get hurt.

Dong Sicheng is a fighter, but the nature of these fights changed when they first entered Weishen. This is much more than hard work and dedication, much different than the three of them surviving in Seoul. This is trust, sacrifice, and no hesitation because if you do, then the cost may be your life. He is a fighter, but he has such a big heart, pure and sweet. When the White Witch strikes him a deal that he can’t resist, takes advantage of his vulnerabilities, he realizes a beat too late that he had been deceived.

For the first time in his life, he unintentionally deals a heavy blow to the people he loves the most. He accepts the consequences with frost in his blood, scars on his body, guilt in his bones. The darkness swallows him whole, and he wonders if the cost for his hesitation is death.

Sicheng can’t quite put the feeling into words, how his body feels foreign to him when he wakes. How it no longer feels like _home_. 

He holds his breath as he reaches under his tunic and runs his fingers lightly along his tender ribs, trembling when he feels the heavy drum of his heart beating away under smooth skin. The snow he lies on presses against his body, numbing cold bleeding through his loose clothes like the White Witch’s blade. He still tastes remnants of the war on his lips, the lingering smoke and metal. 

But this isn’t the battlefield. This is a park in Seoul during its winter season at midnight, looking exactly the same as the day he left six years ago. He takes a shaky breath and wipes the tears from his cheeks as the ringing in his ears slowly fades. A melody plays faintly in the distance, haunting and familiar, calling for something lost.

Weishen calls for its second prince to return, but Sicheng only covers his hands over his ears as his time begins again.

❧ ❧ ❧

_“Do it.” The witch’s eyes glitter with hatred when he stands over her with his blade against her throat, swaying from the pain, shaking from fear. “Why do you hesitate, Child of Spring?”_

_Sicheng grits his teeth as he tries to still the tremble in his hands, but he can’t do it. Not when his vision blurs from the wounds she had given him. Not when all he knows is hard work, dedication, and endurance. He realizes that all of those nights practicing how to wield his sword when everyone else was sleeping, all those early mornings spent sparring, all those days on the battlefield-- nothing prepared him for this. Holding someone’s life in the palm of his hands._

_Dong Sicheng is a fighter, but his heart bleeds kindness._

_The White Witch is feared, revered, powerful, but god, she must have been lonely. She doesn’t have family like how he has Ten and Yukhei, no friends like everyone in Neo waiting for him, nothing but the walls she put up and those who follow her just to survive._

_So he gives her one final chance. “Will you ever change your ways if I show you mercy?”_

_The smile she gives him cuts like glass, sharp and predatory. “Never.”_

_She lunges, and his blade has no choice but to reciprocate._

❧ ❧ ❧

Like the night before, Sicheng opens the wardrobe and sits on the cold ground beside it, hands tracing the pretty floral engravings on the wood. 

_Jasmine, Protea, and Delphinium._

_Ten, Sicheng, and Yukhei._

Inside, there is nothing but several aged fur coats that belonged to their grandfather, smelling faintly of sandalwood and lavender. But he knows that if he leans against the back of the wardrobe and closes his eyes, he will find himself in the sunflower fields near Taeyong’s old cottage. The flowers were gone when he left, the earth scorched from black ice.

Like the night before, he can’t bring himself to crawl inside.

He hears the White Witch’s final words ringing in his ears, laughing at how Weishen’s second prince was too kind, too trusting, too vulnerable. Sicheng thinks of how his friends rescued him at the Yishin border, how they were injured when they fought to regain control of Neo. They had been kind and forgiving to him even when he foolishly fell for her empty promises of peace. He remembers leaving camp in the dead of night to face her himself, remembers the ice running in his veins where she pierced him, remembers the way his hands shook when he cut her down.

Sicheng curls in upon himself, current body back to seventeen years old, skin an unfamiliar blank canvas where there used to be scars and bruises. 

The garden in between his ribs wilts even more when he realizes he can no longer hear the flowers.

 _What are you so scared of_ , the wardrobe seems to whisper to him when he drapes a sheet of white cloth over it that night, _why won’t you come home_? 

Home to Weishen, the kingdom he had protected and fallen in love with for the past six years. Home, to his friends in Neo who had stayed by his side since the very beginning. Home, where his brothers are waiting for him. 

_Home_ , where he feels the most like himself.

“I’m not brave enough,” he whispers back to no one in particular, adjusting the cloth until he can no longer see the wood beneath. “I _hurt_ them and I-- I can’t forgive myself for it.” 

The voices seem to disappear after that.

❧ ❧ ❧

On the seventh day, he wakes to the melodic sound of wind chimes.

Sicheng stills when he hears the quiet creak of the wardrobe doors, soft footsteps padding across the room until they reach where he lies on the floor. Warm fingers curl gently around his wrist and he gasps quietly as he realizes who it is, blinking tears from his eyes as he turns his head to gaze at his older brother. Ten smiles happily at him before he carefully tugs him closer, thin arms wrapping around Sicheng’s body like a safety blanket. They stay curled together until the quiet sobs in the room disappear and both of them laugh at each other’s puffy eyes. 

He tastes a telltale hint of citrus on his tongue and knows that it is more than a dream.

“You!” Sicheng yelps when Ten suddenly flicks his forehead after cooing about how young and _round_ he looks, the stinging pain much too real and familiar. “How could you go after the White Witch by yourself, then _disappear_?” 

“Did you come all this way to attack me, _ge_?” He whines childishly, though he quickly shuts up at Ten’s sharp gaze. It doesn’t feel right, seeing how gaunt and worried his brother is, dark shadows heavy under his eyes. 

“I wanted to fix my mistakes.” He admits as he nervously plays with the silver rings adorning Ten’s fingers, focusing on the tiny crack in the ceiling as he avoids eye contact. An involuntary shiver runs down his spine as he feels the ghost of her magic on his skin, bitterly cold and cruel. “Is everyone… is she…?”

“Oh, baby. She’s gone for good,” Ten murmurs gently, his voice soothing his worries away like a lullaby. He had always been the most intune with Sicheng’s emotions, able to read him like a book. “Everyone’s fine. She can’t hurt us anymore.”

“Good,” He whispers back, mirroring Ten’s relieved smile with a small one of his own. They stay there for a while in silence before Ten begins to fill him in on what happened after the fall of the White Witch. Neo is being rebuilt and Taeyong was elected to be it’s new ruler. Yishin has fallen, but the people are finally free. Donghyuck still picks on an unsuspecting Mark, but it’s not much of a surprise. 

(“You left Yukhei in charge? With YangYang and Hendery?” 

“Be quiet, I got Kun to babysit.”)

Sicheng expects the heavy weight squeezing his lungs to fade at the positive news, but he finds that it is even harder to breathe when he learns the flowers haven’t returned to Weishen just yet.

“It’s you,” Ten explains quietly as if sensing his confusion. “Kun says some of the magic disappeared with you.” His eyes shine with something akin to hope even if he tries to play it off as curiosity, always honest. “Are you coming back?”

Sicheng lets the words sit in the air for a bit while he thinks of the last seven days, trapped in a body no longer familiar to him, trapped in loneliness. “I will when I have more courage.” He knows it isn’t the answer that Ten wants to hear by the way he chews at his lower lip, but it is all he can muster for now. “Soon, when it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Cheng?” He looks up and nearly flinches at the fierce look in his brother’s gaze, at the knowing smile on his face. “You are the most courageous person I know. Yukhei would think so too. I just hope you can find it in yourself to believe it.”

Ten presses a soft kiss to his temple and something into his palms before he leaves at dawn, where it burns fever-warm against his skin. Sicheng waits until he is gone before he carefully pulls the golden amulet around his neck, fingers running over the flower engraved on it. The protea flower, Kun had called it when he first pressed the cold tip of the blade to his shoulder during the coronation ceremony. _It symbolizes diversity and courage, finding it within yourself to make a difference in this world._

 _I think it suits you_.

❧ ❧ ❧

The White Witch told him once that his kindness led to hesitation, that his pureness made him vulnerable, that his heart needed to harden like her cruel ice so that he wasn’t weak.

His brand of bravery is quiet and calm, he thinks, mostly kindness and hard work, dedication and endurance. It’s a strength of yours, Ten had whispered to him once when he caught him coming home late at night from his secret part-time job, remaining yourself even when the world is so harsh to you. He doesn’t know if he will ever make a difference in the world, but perhaps, this type of courage will be enough for at least one person. Perhaps, it is time to start with forgiveness first.

When he leaves Seoul for the last time, he finally feels like himself again. Deems himself worthy of being Dong Sicheng, Second Prince of Weishen, Child of Spring.

“You came back.” 

“I did.” Sicheng turns his head when he notices Kun standing beside him amongst the dead flowers, the elder looking slightly worn out though his smile remains bright. Being back in his body of twenty-three years, skin scarred and bruised, he feels more alive than ever. 

“I’m glad.” Kun gestures for him to sit down next to him so he complies, wincing at the way the grass crunches like glass under his weight. “What changed?”

A lot of things have changed, but he keeps it simple. “I forgave myself for hurting everyone. For hurting myself.”

“I don’t think you could ever hurt them on purpose,” Kun says with a sympathetic smile, “even if you think you did.”

Sicheng thinks about the past, how Ten and Yukhei have been nothing but patient and forgiving with him, how he always learns from his mistakes and tries to do better. Kun tilts his head to the side and adds, almost like an afterthought, “The flowers were beginning to miss you.”

He can hear them faintly whispering in the wind, gentle voices singing to him, welcoming him back, their beloved Child of Spring. There’s a tingle of electricity in the air, followed by a sweet and calming floral scent, that he recognizes as his magic. He feels it in his fingertips when he touches the grass, marvels as everything slowly comes back to life again, as if waking from a deep slumber. Kun watches intently when the first flowers begin to sprout, a proud look in his eyes as he touches the petals of the pink blossoms. 

_Protea, for diversity and courage, finding it within yourself to make a difference in this world._

The ground is no longer bare and the garden in between his ribs blooms once more.

❧ ❧ ❧

It has only been two weeks since he returned home, but the kingdom is already flourishing, blooming, _alive_.

Sicheng watches with a mixture of fascination and horror as Yukhei tries to cut the overgrown grass in the gardens with Hendery and YangYang, his younger brother chaotically hacking away with a sword. Hendery disappears into his patch of grass while YangYang spins dizzily in circles, a small blade in each hand. Ten grumbles as he shifts where he had fallen asleep after his meeting with the general, squinting at the sight, judgement written all over his face.

“I think one of us should take one for the team,” he mumbles in a sleep-laced voice, “and inform Kun. Maybe reinvent the lawnmower now that we have time. For their sake.”

Sicheng winces at the thought of getting Kun when Yukhei makes yet another hole in the ground, glad that the elder was in Neo for business. “No thanks, _ge_. You can tell him.”

Ten says something under his breath and pulls the blanket over his body again, but Sicheng knows his brother is keeping an eye on the disaster trio, kind as he always is. 

As the three of them pause in order to admire their work, Sicheng slips out of his chair and enters the throne room, where four seats stand at the top of the ivory steps. One for the High King of Weishen and each of the two princes. The last one remains unoccupied, covered in vines and blossoms. Sicheng runs a finger along the floral engravings carved in the gold of the first three.

_Jasmine, Protea, Delphinium, Gladiolus._

_Ten, Sicheng, Yukhei._

When he gets to the fourth throne, he gently encourages the vines to move enough for him to see, enough for him to trace the image of Gladiolus blossoms. They have spoken about it with Kun before, what it could mean. It might be someone from our world, Yukhei had mentioned then, voicing the words that they couldn’t say. _There could be others like us_.

Sicheng thinks back to when he first left Seoul and ended up in Neo, Ten on the outskirts of Yishin, and Yukhei in the woods of Weishen. He had been absolutely frightened, thrown in the midst of a war in a land he had yet to learn. But the nature of the fight in Weishen has shifted yet again. It isn’t war, sacrifice, no hesitation because the cost may be your life.

It is rebirth. Kindness and hard work, dedication and endurance, things he is familiar with.

“I wish that for them,” Sicheng whispers kindly to the blossoms with a smile, “for them to live freely here, without fear. For them to feel the most like themself.” 

The flowers are stubborn, and have been stubborn no matter how patient or gentle he is. They curl back around the throne as if protecting it, their voices quiet but not as aggressive as usual when they tell Sicheng to back off. He sits on the ground in front of them, trying to be open, inviting like Ten. Full of heart like Yukhei. Kind and as brave as he knows how to be.

_Will you protect him?_

“Yes,” he promises, “I will watch over them. Always.”

They speak to him and Sicheng whispers the name under his breath, commits it to memory. 

❧ ❧ ❧

_He is a fighter, proud and fierce._

_When he was young, he fought against the bullies in school and fought to protect his dreams. He fights for injustice, for those who do not have a voice, for those who live in fear. Sure, he is also scared, also feels fear from speaking up against those who try to bring him down. But if he can help at least one person, he thinks, then it is good enough for him._

_But it gets tiring when the fight lasts so long and he feels like nothing has changed no matter how hard he tries._

_He goes to bed that night with a split lip and bandages on bloody knuckles, wounds he received when he fought off a robber at the club he performed at. But when he wakes to the sound of a horn, he isn’t sprawled on his bare mattress anymore, the ink of his lyrics on his arms no longer there. No, all he sees are thin trees and autumn leaves, the orange and reds burning like fire above him. No bandages, no blood. It must be a dream, he thinks, I must have hit my head too hard yesterday._

_The winds sing gently to him, telling him that this is not a dream._

_For the first time in his life, he doesn’t know how to describe it, but there’s a sense of peace. A feeling that, even if he is unfamiliar with this place, he belongs._

_The moment is short-lived. He gasps when he hears the crinkle of leaves, the snap of branches, telltale signs that he is not alone. Before he can stumble to his feet and run he finds a blade to his throat, hears a deep voice, calm and deadly. “Who are you?”_

_The stranger wears a flowy white shirt tucked into skinny black pants, covered in a vest with gold embroidery in floral patterns, a circlet of gold atop his dark hair. One of his ears even has a tiny point, he notices, how regal. He feels completely out of place in his hoodie, sweatpants, and worn sneakers. It’s a miracle he manages to answer at all when the other man runs his gaze over his attire with an unreadable expression in his dark eyes._

_“Xiaojun.”_

_The frown on the stranger’s face morphs into awe, a kind smile lighting up his handsome face as he lowers his blade. “You’re here.”_

_Xiao Dejun, Fourth Prince of Weishen, Son of Fire._

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> This is my first ever fic written for NCT and I hope you enjoyed reading it! ;v; 
> 
> I really wanted to write a short piece explore Sicheng's feelings as he deals with change in a Narnia-inspired setting, ha. Maybe someday I'll write a longer piece for this universe? There are a lot of things I want to explore~
> 
> Please check out the [NCT WayV Fleur Charity Zine](https://twitter.com/nctwayv_fleur) as well! There are a lot of amazing artists and writers who participated and it was an absolute honor to be a part of it.
> 
> Find me here!  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/taeyyoo) | [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/taeyyoo)


End file.
